A Mysterious Illness
by Earenniel
Summary: Sherlock arrives home in an alarming state...
1. Sherlock

**This is just a random little oneshot that came to me a few nights ago that just wouldn't leave me alone, so I thought I would exercise those writing muscles and get writing! :D Apologies as it is very crap although I might have just read it one too many times and as such have become de-sensitized to its awesomeness (yeah, right) Anyway let me know what you think, reviews make my life! :D**

**I know absolutely jack squat about the medical stuff, so please don't shoot me in the foot if some things don't add up :P **

**I DONT OWN ANYTHING (APART FROM MY UNHEALTHY OBSESSION WITH ALL THINGS SHERLOCK) AND NO PROFIT IS BEING MADE OUT OF THIS. PROPERTY OF MARK, STEPHEN AND OBVIOUSLY SIR ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE. :D**

Sherlock was ill. Seriously ill. John barely had time to register his best friend and flatmate's return to their flat before he collapsed and started violently fitting on the living room floor.

"J...J...John...oh god John... help me"

Before he could even process what was happening, John was on the floor in a flash beside his friend, taking Sherlock's cold, outstretched hand, hoping to offer a small measure of comfort as Sherlock writhed and sputtered in what looked like pure agony. John's eyes were wide with shock and fear as he watched his best friend convulsing, his mind going utterly blank, desperately trying to figure out exactly what he was supposed to be doing.

"Sherlock..._what the hell happened to you_?"

Grabbing Sherlock's head to prevent it from bouncing on the floor as it was currently doing, he finally found his voice. Sherlock gave no response as John found himself unconsciously slipping into the familiar doctor mode he was so accustomed to, taking in the shaking body and clammy skin, the sweat beaded forehead, the soft but agonized moaning coming from Sherlock as he lay there on his back, eyes fluttering closed, his head moving from side to side as his whole body spasmed in response to the poison. John held Sherlock's head steady with one hand and ran his hands over Sherlock's body with the other, hoping to find something that would shed some light on this recent alarming turn of events. Of course, he found nothing. Sherlock's moaning suddenly increased to a loud wail, his eyes shot open as his hands clasped around his stomach desperately trying to stop this terrible, terrible pain. At that moment all the doctor's training flew out of his head and John Watson started to get scared. He moved Sherlock onto his side in an effort to ease the pain, but all that did was make Sherlock wail even louder.

"Oh god... oh god john... I think... I think i'm dying. John please –" Sherlock broke off as his breath started to come in ragged gasps, as if his lungs had suddenly decided to stop working, his face going a deep red with the effort of trying to force air into them.

'oh god.. oh god... what the hell do I do?' john's mind was screaming at him to do something, just spring into action and do _something_, _anything_. It was at this point that john realized Sherlock was now starting to hyperventilate, hi s shock and fear rapidly rising up a notch.

"It's ok Sherlock... it's ok... just, just try and breathe"

John knew it was a pathetic, cliché answer but it was like he was numb, like he was watching the scene unfold from far away. He started mentally going through possible causes of Sherlock's illness. Had he picked up a bug from somewhere? He was always dicing with danger playing around with all those exotic illnesses. Doing his stupid experiments. But he was always so careful, and he hadn't been anywhere near the lab in weeks. Drugs then? No, no definitely not. He and Mrs Hudson had made quite sure there was nothing like that in the flat anymore. So what then? John's mind zeroed in on the only plausible explanation. Poison. Yes of course, it had to be. But which one? Before he could even begin a mind-search of all the poisons he knew of, an entirely unintentional but well aimed kick from Sherlock shocked the doctor inside john into action.

He made a split second decision to disregard Sherlock's dislike of hospitals. "Don't worry Sherlock, everything's going to be ok" he said as he quickly wrenched his phone out of his pocket to phone an ambulance.

Sherlock grabbed his arm weakly "no john, no..." he stuttered out in between trying to drag in oxygen to aid his flagging body. "no hospitals...im ok – "

"How the bloody hell are you ok? You can't breathe Sherlock! You just said you were dying! You -"

"John..." Sherlock interrupted his frantic yelling, as even in this state, it was clear to him that john was panicking, and he couldn't allow that now that he had an idea that just might save his life.

"My room... top drawer"

"What? Sher-"

"My... my room John... antidote..." Sherlock said, his voice getting weaker and weaker as his eyes squeezed shut against the pain that seemed to be getting stronger by the second. That was all John needed to know as he took off like a shot towards Sherlock's room, practically ripping the drawer out and tipping all the contents out onto the perfectly made bed. His trained eyes immediately zoned in on a pack of syringes and a bottle of clear liquid, grabbing these he ran back to the living room, making a quick detour and grabbing his medical kit on the way.

"Sherlock ive got it, I've got it!" he said breathlessly as he hastily knelt down next to his now near unconscious friend.

"Sherlock" he shook Sherlock's shoulders in an effort to keep him awake. He knew he had to keep him awake as it would be much easier for him to fight it if he was awake rather than unconscious, then the poison could really take hold. "Sherlock... c'mon Sherlock stay awake for me ok? Open your eyes for me, that's it Sherlock, that's it" he kept up a steady stream of nonsense as he unscrewed the cap on the vial of liquid and quickly inserted the needle in, pulling the top out until it had reached as high a dosage as he dared. As he didn't know what Sherlock had been poisoned with he was going on the last time he had to administer the antidote, that time being when a certain dominatrix had rendered the Great Sherlock Holmes incapable of even talking or standing on his own.

"Ok here we go, this will make you feel a lot better Sherlock, just try and hold still for me."

John had expertly found a vein, but was finding it difficult to actually inject the much needed antidote into Sherlock's body, as even though he was barely awake he was still convulsing and moaning in agony. It pained John to see his best friend in so much distress. Sherlock was still for a few seconds, John grabbing the opportunity to administer the antidote. Breathing a sigh of relief, he looked over at his friends face, and, with a jolt of fear, realized why Sherlock had suddenly gone still. He was unconscious.

"Shit."

**Let me know what you think guys! As I said before, reviews make my life! :D Might consider writing another chapter or two depending on how many reviews this gets of course (wink, wink).**


	2. Sour

**Ok, firstly I just want to say, I am so so sorry for taking **_**this**_** long to update! I won't bore you with the details, but a spontaneous trip up North to see a very awesome friend of mine coupled with a highly annoying bout of writers block...and well I won't ramble the main thing is I have finally managed to finish not only one chapter, but two! :) I will update the next chapter very soon, either today or tomorrow :)**

**Secondly, OMG! Thank you to every single one of you who reviewed this! You have no idea how much it means to me, it filled me with much needed confidence as I read through them all! :D**

**averagehikari****, ****Ena6Ena****, ****Venea Taur****, ****PsychOut96****, ****Prothoe****, ****moonagedaydreaming****, ****lolberries****, ****Awesome-Sauce-Eater****, ****Moogfifi****, ****FlutteringLights****, ****jayjayvee****, ****elfmaiden4legs****, ****drummerlisa**** as well as all the awesome people who favourited and story alerted this - Thank you so much! Love and massive squishy hugs to you all! **

**Ok well this is a short chapter where we get to see a little bit of what's going through John's head, not a lot happens in this one but there'll be more action in the next chapter! :D There is some very mild bad language in this so beware... and enjoy! :D**

**I DONT OWN ANYTHING (APART FROM MY UNHEALTHY OBSESSION WITH ALL THINGS SHERLOCK) AND NO PROFIT IS BEING MADE OUT OF THIS. PROPERTY OF MARK, STEPHEN AND OBVIOUSLY SIR ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE. :D**

**xxxxxxxxxx**

What the hell was it? It was absolutely disgusting, that's all he knew. He mentally ran through the possibilities again...The milk! The milk was sour! Yes... yes that was it! John Watson would have smiled at this small realization had he not felt so utterly drained. He had been trying to determine the cause of the frankly vile taste in his mouth for the last two hours now, although the doctor inside him should have realized it had little to do with the milk, and much more to do with something else entirely. He was sitting in the same position he had been in for about five hours, his knees in a crouch beside the sofa, gripping a cup of tea that was pushed into his hands quite a while ago. His muscles had frozen it seemed, and he desperately wanted to get up and move about a bit, get his circulation going again, but it seemed a futile task. It wasn't important, he held no regard for himself or his wellbeing, not when his hand was locked around another longer and far more elegant hand, the hand that belonged to a far too still, unresponsive, deathly cold detective. The Great Sherlock Holmes. Or to John, just Sherlock. He had to keep hold of that hand. Nothing else was important to him now, all he had to do was keep hold of that hand and everything would be ok. If only things were that simple. His life had changed so dramatically after his fateful meeting with this strange, wildly unpredictable, inappropriate yet incredible man that he could not imagine going back to his old life. He had never experienced so much excitement and exhilaration before, not even in the army. He had never enjoyed the thrill of the chase quite so much as he did than when he was in the detective's company. What if all of that was about to change? What if everything they had done together, all those cases they had solved, all those tight spots they had got each other out of, what if all of that was about to become mere memories? Could he possibly live a life without Sherlock?

He shivered from his crouched position, he had been so lost in his own tortured thoughts he hadn't noticed that the temperature of the room had dipped quite a lot. Lifting his head up he slowly gazed around the room, the room that was now so familiar to him but now gave him no comfort whatsoever. It was dark outside. How long ago had it gone dark? Who had switched the lamp on? Was that rain pelting on the window outside? How had he not noticed? Not that it mattered much, he wasn't about to go anywhere anyway. He pondered getting up and closing the curtains, but decided against it in favour of keeping the tight grip he had on his friend's limp hand. His gaze was drawn once again to that pale face, damnit why did he have to get himself into trouble all the time? Why was it always John who was left to pick up the pieces of the numerous messes that seemed to follow Sherlock around everywhere he went? He sighed deeply, for what seemed like the hundredth time today, as he resigned himself to crouching on the living room floor for however long it took. Yes, he didn't care how long it would take, he would wait for Sherlock to wake up, and join the land of the living once more.

**xxxxxxxxxxxx**

**Let me know what you think guys! Feedback greatly appreciated! :D **


	3. Mycroft

**I DONT OWN ANYTHING (APART FROM MY UNHEALTHY OBSESSION WITH ALL THINGS SHERLOCK) AND NO PROFIT IS BEING MADE OUT OF THIS. PROPERTY OF MARK, STEPHEN AND OBVIOUSLY SIR ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE. :D RATED T FOR A FEW NAUGHTY WORDS :P**

Mycroft Holmes calmly walked into the living room of 221b Baker Street to find John still in the same position he had left him in ten minutes ago. Kneeling on the floor, one hand outstretched and intertwined with that of his brother's, the other gripping the cup of tea Mrs Hudson had made for him hours ago. The fact that the tea was by now most probably so cold it was growing little icebergs of its own was hardly worthy of being called a deduction. This would not do.

"I think you need to stop worrying over my hopeless little brother and pay attention to _your_ needs now John" he said in a berating tone that somehow made John feel like he was back in primary school and was being told off by his headmaster again.

John huffed. "Im fine, Mycroft, don't worry about me... I'm -"

"You are certainly not, _fine,_ John. The tremor in the lower half of your left leg and the position of your right hand tell me that not only are you very uncomfortable, and have been for some time, but also that you have developed an irrational fear that if you move, breathe, or take your eyes off dear little brother for even one second then he will spontaneously combust in front of your very eyes. Am I right?" John opened his mouth to respond but the elder Holmes carried on with his lecture regardless. "I can also deduce that due to the fact that you haven't drank your tea - and that is disturbing in itself - and that you have yet to notice that it is currently precisely 37 seconds from falling from your grip and spilling all over the quite frankly _vile_ carpet that you and Sherlock _insist_ on keeping that you are more than a little... pre-occupied?"

"You done?" John's eyebrow had been steadily rising throughout Mycroft's little speech and the look on his face by now was one of pure exasperation.

"I am merely saying" Mycroft continued "That you look like you need, oh how can I put this...refreshing perhaps? Maybe consider a shower? Or a – "

"It's been five and a half hours Mycroft! Five and a half hours since I gave him that antidote. And so far? Nothing, he's just lying there, the stubborn bastard, he doesn't even have the common decency to wake the hell up and let us know he's going to be fine!"

"Now, now John, do calm down. I don't think you having a little breakdown will help matters will they?"

"You arrogant sod!" John exploded. "You weren't here when he stumbled in half alive! You weren't here when he stopped breathing! He... he scared me to death Mycroft! He is scaring me to death right now! I want to know who gave him that poison! I want to know how it got into his system! I want to know who is actually responsible for this because I actually _care_ Mycroft Holmes, do you? Cause so far you haven't given me any reason to believe that you give a damn about your little brother. All you have done since you've been here is talk on that bloody phone of yours! Aren't you even the least bit interested as to what happened? Do you even _care _Mycroft?" John stood up sharply, reluctantly wrenching his hand from his flatmate's. Taking his frustration out on the poor teacup he threw it across the room where it landed with a resounding smash on the mantelpiece, a piece of the cup flying through one the eyeholes of Sherlock's beloved skull, the tea flying everywhere. Ever steady John Watson was shaking slightly from all the trauma of the last few hours, not to mention all the pent up emotion caused by a number of things. Most prominently the feeling of uselessness at not being able to do anything to help his friend, who was clearly very ill, and the overwhelming urge to punch his elder brother square in the face.

"Oh stop being so ridiculously childish John, of course I care... I care more than you will ever know." The last part of the sentence was uttered calmly but very quietly, causing John to sigh and shake his head for the millionth time at the unwillingness of the two brothers to admit their obvious affection for each other. Mycroft seemed quite unaffected by John's angry outburst, standing there in the doorway, impeccably dressed, incredibly composed, which only served to make John even angrier. He didn't get the chance to follow through with his anger however, as Sherlock Holmes chose that exact moment to let out a loud, deep groan, signalling another violent fit.

**Sorry for the cliffhanger ending, forgive me please people! I have another chapter or two in the works which will be uploaded within the next few days. I now have a plan for this story, which I think is much better than just writing each chapter off the top of my head, which is precisely what I have been doing up to now. Anyway, I won't ramble, please let me know what you think! Reviews are like chocolate, they make me VERY happy! :D Earenniel xx**


End file.
